


Roses on the Floor

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:02:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: Thinking about that first Valentine’s Day still fills Magnus was so much love he thinks he’ll drown from it. It had been the start of a long tradition-- at this point, one of the longest Magnus has ever practiced.He doesn’t have date plans until tonight, but Magnus dresses to impress on his errands. He takes special care with his makeup and chooses an outfit that Alec had literally drooled over, no matter how much he'd denied that fact.Or, Magnus celebrates Valentine's Day.





	Roses on the Floor

The sun streams through his sheer curtains, reflects off gold sheets that smell like sandalwood, even after all this time.

Magnus stretches a little in bed, waking up more than a little bit groggy. He’d had a warlock seminar of sorts in Athens yesterday and had stumbled into the loft just shy of midnight after dawdling in a little _tavernas_ far longer than he should have. New York in the middle of February was bitterly cold, though, and Magnus can’t blame himself too much for wanting to soak up the Mediterranean warmth as long as he could.

Still, he has plans today and he’s hasn’t missed celebrating this particular holiday in almost a century.

Climbing out of bed, Magnus reaches for the red silk robe that had been a particularly successful gift to Alec within the first few years of their relationship. While Magnus owned dozens of robes in jewelled tones, the bold red of this particular garment with the black lace trim had been an immediate and _fervent_ hit with his boyfriend.

Tightening the belt around his waist, Magnus cracks his neck, sighing at the pop of pressure as he makes his way to the kitchen.

Brewing a cup of coffee strong enough to kill a man, Magnus thinks through his plans for the day. He needs to pick up some flowers from the corner florist and Raphael had insisted that the wards at the Dumort needed revamped-- refusing to take into consideration Magnus’s set-in-stone plans. 

Thankfully, they didn’t really start until tonight. This evening, he’d make dinner-- one of Alec’s favorites-- and as always, end the day with a bottle of his favorite rosé.

He lingers over his coffee, inhaling deeply. Magnus can never quite drink coffee without thinking of his husband. Lattes, double shots, frappuccinos-- Alec would drink anything as long as it had enough caffeine to fell an elephant.

Watching the sun rise in the beautiful blue sky-- the perfect veneer to hide the single digit wind chill-- Magnus sighs a little as he finishes his mug.

The next hour is spent getting ready for the day, the most auspicious of occasions. Valentine’s Day was sacred to him and Alec, much to Magnus’s eternal bemusement.

Their very first Valentine’s Day, Magnus had portaled home from a particularly chatty client only to find his loft in shambles. Something was burning in the kitchen, the vase of two dozen roses was spilled across his coffee table-- water soaking through the rug underneath-- and Alec was a harried wreck of a man scowling down at a wad of wrapping paper that ostensibly held a gift.

Magnus had been prepared to pretend that the day was nothing out of the ordinary. He was old enough for the date not to be particularly important to him, especially since Alec regularly surprised him with romantic gestures befitting the holiday.

Alec had looked up as he’d stepped through the portal, those brown eyes widening before closing in defeat.

 _I tried_ , he said miserably and glared halfheartedly at his attempts to woo Magnus.

Charmed beyond belief, Magnus had stepped closer, smoothing away the wrinkle that rested between Alec’s brows. It was the work of a moment to clear the kitchen and set the flowers to rights. Framing Alec’s face, Magnus had swept his thumb’s across his boyfriend’s cheeks and murmured something about going out for dinner.

With a narrow-eyed glance like he was trying to peer into Magnus’s soul, Alec had acquiesced. Magnus had portaled them to the long anticipated Marrakech where they’d enjoyed a warm summer night and eaten the best lamb kabobs the world over. They hadn’t arrived back in New York until almost dawn, wherein Alec had hesitantly handed Magnus the ball of mangled wrapping paper in dazzling shades of pink and red.

Magnus had accepted the gift and vowed to knock Alec’s socks off next year, even if he had to spend the next twelve months planning something grand enough to give the shadowhunter in front of him even an inkling of just how much he meant to Magnus.

The gift had been something small-- as all of Alec’s gifts tended to be-- but packed enough of a punch that Magnus felt his chest shudder under the onslaught.

It was a small painting, no bigger than a standard piece of paper. It bloomed across the canvas in a riot of color and Magnus knew what it was the moment he’d uncovered the gift wrap.

Alec had been staring at him with an eagle gaze, furiously taking in his shifting expressions. He’d wetted his lips and cleared his throat before offering in a tentative voice, _You told me that you always wished to return to Jakarta but you could never quite bring yourself to do it. I know it’s not much, but Catarina accompanied me to the city and there was a street vendor there selling paintings he did himself. This is a picture of_ \--

Looking up, Magnus had cut Alec off. _My darling_ , he’d whispered. _This is the beach within walking distance of the house I was born in. How did you know?_

Alec had clearly been startled before he’d shrugged helplessly. _I just liked the way it looked. I guess I was drawn to it_.

That painting still hung in Magnus’s private study. No one had ever been allowed in that room except for Ragnor once upon a time and Catarina and Raphael and, of course, Alec.

Thinking about that first Valentine’s Day still fills Magnus was so much love he thinks he’ll drown for it. It had been the start of a long tradition-- at this point, one of the longest Magnus has ever practiced.

He doesn’t have date plans until tonight, but Magnus dresses to impress on his errands. He takes special care with his makeup and chooses an outfit that Alec had literally drooled over, no matter how much he protested that fact.

The corner florist has been in business for over 150 years and thanks in large part to his loyal patronage, no one had ever questioned him too closely about his eternal youth.

He talks to the great grandson of the original owner for a few minutes and chooses two arrangements-- the standard two dozen red roses that have graced his living room every February for eighty years, and another arrangement of sunflowers, their faces open and cheerful.

Alec always picked sunflowers for himself.

By the time he’s checked out at La Belle Fleur, it’s early afternoon and Magnus heads toward the Dumort. He’s barely made it through the back door when Raphael steps through the open doorway. Magnus stares at him bemused.

“Trying to scare me? You should know by now that I’m immune to your vampiric silence.”

Raphael just looks at him for a long moment before turning on his heel and leading the way to his office. There’s no one else around-- most of the vampires either sleeping or staying somewhere else for a few days-- and Magnus has barely settled into the deep leather chair before the fire when he’s handed a glass of whiskey.

Accepting the proffered drink, he takes a sip while considering Raphael over the top of the glass. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Scowling, Raphael takes his own glass to the other chair and stares into the burnished flames of the fire. His smile is barely there but Magnus can see the faint way his mouth turns up in sentiment that one of his oldest friends would deny with all the breath he doesn’t have.

“Someone told me once that it was rude to ask someone to do a job without offering refreshments and pleasantries when they arrived.”

“Now, I wonder who could have drummed some manners into your infuriatingly thick skull?”

It’s quiet for awhile after that, both men content to enjoy each other’s company in silence. New York has burrowed its way into his heart just as sure as his husband had all those years ago and there’s just something about enjoying a glass of whiskey before a fire as the city drones on outside that makes his heart clench. He may travel more than ever now but this is what his home’s become, this is his safe haven in his tumultuous, never-ending life-- New York City with those he loves and those he knows best.

He’s just set to drain the last of his liquor and stand when Raphael’s voice breaks the spell that seems to have settled over them.

“How are you doing, Magnus?”

Throwing him a wry glance, Magnus replies, “I’m doing fine, Raphael. More than fine, really. I’ve got dinner plans-- as you know-- and a bottle of rosé calling my name. All around, it’s shaping up to be a Valentine’s Day like any other.”

Carefully, Raphael turns the glass in his hand and Magnus watches as light reflects through the cut crystal, turning the amber liquid molten.

“Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight? I’ll even let you pick.”

Sighing, Magnus sends Raphael a chastising look. “You know my plans are set in stone, _mi pequeño vampiro_. Nothing stands in the way of my Valentine’s Day plans.”

Magnus decidedly does _not_ see that way Raphael grits his teeth gently. “How much longer are you going to do this, Magnus?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Raphael.”

“Your holiday plans. Your romantic dinner. The whole downworld knows that you’re incommunicado today, that you have been since 2016 no matter that--”

“ _Don’t.”_

Magnus’s voice cuts coldly through the room and not even Raphael is bold enough to contradict the order.

It’s tense for a minute before Magnus releases the tension in his shoulders in a slow wave. “I love my husband, Raph, and this has always been a day to celebrate that. That will never change.”

“I just worry about you,” Raphael admits lowly. He drains the rest of his glass in an efficient swallow that Magnus taught him ages and ages ago.

Magnus smiles but it’s a maelstrom display. He watches the fire with unseeing eyes. “I told Alec once, very early in our acquaintance, that he’d unlocked something in me. I thought for decades that Camille had ruined me, that she’d ground my heart to dust under the heel of her Louboutins. I was surprised to realize that she hadn’t, that I was still capable of love, after all.”

Looking up, Magnus meets Raphael’s pensive gaze. “I love Alec just as much now as I did then. More, I’d say. As long as that’s true, you have nothing to worry about, my dear.”

Standing, Magnus sets his glass down on the table with a dull thud. “Now,” he says briskly. “I believe I have wards to update?”

 

Magnus walks into his loft and releases a deep sigh. He’d only been at the Dumort for a couple of hours but he was anxious to return back to his apartment. It’s late afternoon, the sun just starting to set and Magnus decides to put off preparations for dinner for just a little while.

Heading over to his drink cart, Magnus opens the bottle of Rosé and lets it breathe for a few minutes as makes a detour, going to his study to grab a book from one of his shelves.

Returning to the living room, Magnus pours a glass of wine and settles into the corner of the couch. Crossing his legs, he sets the photo album on the seat next to him and flips through the pages slowly. He only gives himself the opportunity to be unforgivably nostalgic on a handful of days and Valentine’s Day is most certainly one of them. Alec had walked in on him more than once when he was enjoying a glass of whatever suited his mood while he took a trip down memory lane.

He trails a finger along his own laughing face when he gets to a picture a kind passerby had taken of him with Alec in Paris, laughs to himself when he sees another photo where Alec had kissed him on the cheek, surprising him.

The wedding page-- just a page of duplicates while he has an album dedicated entirely to the grandest event in his very long life shelved in the study-- still makes his heart hurt in the best damned way when he turns to it, still makes the breath wrench in his chest.

With a sigh, he spends an hour on the photo album. Twilight gloom hangs heavy in the room when he flips the back cover over and takes a long, shuddering breath. His glass is long since empty and he smooths a hand over the photo album, a long leisurely sweep as he stands.

A few moments later, he’s flipping the kitchen lights on and as he takes a bracing sip of his second glass of wine, Magnus starts dinner.

Valentine’s Day planning alternated and while there had been plenty of dates in foreign locales, or even just out in the city, Magnus’s favorite dates were always those when it was just the two of them enjoying each other’s company in the warmth of the loft. All of the best things had happened here, after all, and Alec was never more romantic than when he didn’t have to worry about anyone but his husband witnessing his attempts.

He’d decided last week to make Alec’s favorite meal and as he takes the ground beef out, Magnus huffs out a laugh. His husband could certainly appreciate a culinary marvel of a meal but he always preferred his blasted bacon cheeseburgers with extra crispy fries.

Magnus makes two and plates them up. He spends the few minutes waiting for the food to cool by setting the table-- a deep red tablecloth and tall candles that don’t illuminate much but light on the gleam of his glass.

It gives everything a rosy glow that makes Magnus overwhelmingly fond. 

He sets the arrangement of roses in the middle of the table, fussing for a quick second over the blooms.

Finally, it’s time to eat and Magnus grabs the plates and sets them down in their places. He stands over the table for a long moment and time seems to still. He half expects Alec to come crashing through the door, apologies spilling from his mouth as he rambles on about a demon infestation or how much of an idiotic inconvenience his parabatai is or whatever it was that had kept him from arriving to date night on time.

Magnus imagines walking over to Alec and grabbing his arms, pulling his husband down for a sound kiss. He’d forgive with a wave of his hand a smile that warmed his eyes. Alec would be especially effusive in his praise of dinner and Magnus’s outfit and Magnus would drolly wonder if he’d receive such compliments if he’d chosen a pack of milk duds and a burlap sack.

His throat closes and the breath stops in his chest and Magnus closes his eyes against the wave of grief that all but swallows him. He works on his breathing for longer than he’d ever admit and when he opens his eyes again, he smiles.

It’s bright and real and wondering.

Settling down in a chair, Magnus enjoys his dinner. He only permits himself to talk to Alec aloud a few times a year-- Valentine’s Day, their anniversary, Alec’s birthday.

So, he talks.

He tells Alec about his day and how the seminar was last night and what his travel plans are for the summer. He talks about the movie he just saw and how Madzie is coming into her own in the warlock community and about Raphael’s gentle but sincere concern.

He finishes his burger and pours a third and fourth and fifth glass of wine. He takes an interlude and stands from the table, plating the leftovers in Tupperware that had been a housewarming gift from Simon when Magnus had first invited Alec to move in.

Cleaning the kitchen with a wave of his hand, Magnus grabs his glass of wine from the table and the bottle as well and goes out to the balcony.

He magically regulates the temperature out here but it’s still a little chilly and the cold seeps into his bones.

He walks over to the edge of the balcony and stares out over New York. The city is as busy as ever and he takes a deep drink of wine before his gaze falls down to the hand that lays over the brick wall.

Twisting the wedding ring that’s adorned his finger for almost a century, Magnus thinks about the long road that’s led to this moment.

He’d still do it all again. He would still make that horrendous pun and he would still crash a wedding in a move that would have gotten him executed a century earlier and he still would have given his heart to his stupid, stubborn, amazing, _perfect_ shadowhunter.

Really, he thinks he’d never had a choice and he wouldn’t want one, not when it got him a lifetime of love that still has the power to warm him on the coldest nights.

“I love you, my darling.”

Magnus's voice is quiet, somber. He smiles and it’s sad but it also takes a weight off his shoulders that he carries every day.

It’s quiet on the patio. The sound of cars is distant, the noise of the city a lifetime away. Magnus thinks about the past ten years and how difficult that first year was, after Alec’s death. He thinks about the second and third and fourth year and how he'd woken up feeling like his chest was collapsing.

He thinks about this tenth year and bites his lip viciously to keep the tears at bay.

Alec would hate to know that he could make Magnus cry even after he’s been gone so long.

It feels like the blink of an eye to Magnus, though. It feels like just yesterday he was wrapping Alec in quilts and reading the menu to him. 

It’s been a decade. Magnus knows that he will love Alec until the end of his life, whenever that day is destined to come. Alec unlocked something in him and Magnus never fears about turning cold, not when he has a million and one memories of Alexander to keep him from freezing.

Magnus stays out on the balcony until nearly midnight. He finishes the first bottle and then a second. He remembers Alec and the dozens of holidays they planned, each one special and everything that Magnus could have asked for because they spent the day together, celebrating their love.

The clock is just about to strike midnight when Magnus closes his eyes. His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as he says, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Alexander.”

It’s impossible and Magnus will never tell anyone but he knows that he feels a whisper of wind over his cheek at the words.

The patio is temperature controlled, after all, and the warm breeze can only have one source.

That’s what Magnus tells himself, anyway, and it makes the back of his throat ache even as it eases something in him.

Alec is always with him and Magnus wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr or twitter @carmenlire!


End file.
